


Crossing the Threshold

by KathAbernathy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathAbernathy/pseuds/KathAbernathy
Summary: Daryl and Carol have an opportunity to come to terms with their relationship on the eve of the survivors' battle against Beta's Whisperers. This is my version of what should have happened right after 10.14 "Look At the Flowers"Cross-posted to Nine Lives.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Crossing the Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Carol have a heart-to-heart and share a bath.

Daryl had loved her forever. “Forever” being since the quarry, light years ago, a lifetime ago. Both of them had changed a lot, but his love for Carol never faded. Now he was the lighthouse, casting his beam upon her again and again and failing to pierce her darkness. He was still here, still trying. Even after she’d lied to him in and before the cave. He couldn’t deny the pain she’d caused him and others. He understood Carol’s obsession with Alpha and lust for her death. Daryl could never hold that against her. She'd lost so much, so many times. She had also saved so many, so many times. Daryl was the only one left with her who remembered them all. 

He’d tried to let her know - without using the exact words - that he loved her. That he wanted to be there for her, that she could trust and confide in him, that they had a future. Maybe he should have used the exact words, for all Carol heard the ones he selected as substitutes. In the cave, when she’d run back into the cavern with the dynamite, his fear of losing her was vivid and real as it had ever been. On the ledge above Alpha's growling horde, both of them in tears and emotional agony, when he persuaded her to turn back from certain death, Daryl was certain that was the end of her furious crusade. Then she’d reached back for the dynamite...and dropped it. Not much good came after.

Daryl wasn’t sure which hurt his heart more — Carol’s deafness to his own declarations which — while not blunt, were pretty clear for a guy like him — or her determination to hook him up with a woman who _wasn't_ her. Daryl had told her it wasn't that way. He'd never felt as deeply for anyone as he did for Carol. She was the sun and he was content just to exist in her orbit. 

Having Carol back in Alexandria made his heart happy, until Daryl realized she was only running away again — running from the King and their crumbling Kingdom, running from the sight of her son’s head on a pike. All the winter long they lived together in the one house with Michonne, R.J., Judith and Lydia. There were family dinners and laughter. There were cozy evenings in front of the fire, the kids playing or reading, the adults talking about the events of the day, playing dominos or cards, or planning to go on a run. Maybe one or all of them would be working on some type of project with their hands. Michonne drew plans and diagrams and plotted routes of travel, Daryl usually wove braided lines or sharpened blades.

After returning to Alexandria, Carol dominated over the cooking and took pride in mending whatever was torn or broken (clothes or bodies, it made no difference), and spent most evenings cleaning weapons. That is, when she was spending evenings at home. Not long before she ran away to the boat, Carol started picking up extra shifts patrolling the perimeter after supper, spending less and less time in the house with the rest of them. All four were puzzled and hurt by her distancing. They never mentioned it, not even among themselves. They all loved her in their own individual ways, and it was as Kelly often said: Carol was a lone wolf. Sometimes she needed to go off by herself to do the things that only she could do. 

Daryl was that way himself for a good, long while. He was much less so now. Damn near domesticated, Merle would have said.

Every once in a while, Daryl caught Carol watching him with what he could have sworn was longing. He convinced himself it was his own wishful thinking. When she bolted again, this time to the sea, Daryl was bewildered. She was running away, again, running from some new pain. Was Carol running from _him_? Worried he might smother her with concern, Daryl tried not to cling to her in any way once she'd returned to Alexandria. He didn't want to make her any more skittish or annoy her to the point of leaving. Maybe she’d sensed his desperation to hang on to her. He speculated and worried about what he might have said or done to make her leave again.

She left him so many times and always, eventually, they found their way back together. It was a painful pattern of existence, but one Daryl was willing to endure it as long as it took. As long as he could still see her and spend time in her company. That was good enough, maybe more than he deserved.

Daryl’s nights were troubled and sleepless after Carol fled. He racked his brain for what he might have done differently to keep her close by. He’d thought he could give her comfort and support, that it would be enough to help her find her way up out of the darkness, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. And yet...there were times when he could still feel the power of the deep bond between them.

When Carol hugged him on the dock in Oceanside it was the happiest to see her he’d been since Terminus. Spending the day with her riding the bike and hunting together was rare and special for both of them. In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, Daryl made and gifted her the bracelet, a bullshit braided string she'd immediately tied on her wrist and worn ever since. Sometimes he watched her toying with the braid as his heart and mind fluctuated between confusion and hope. 

Daryl searched his soul for a way to help her. To heal her body and spirit, to find opportunities for her to enjoy some of the good things left in simply being alive. And he wanted to be with her, together, the two of them. A pair, two halves of a whole. However that felt and whatever it meant. There would never be anyone else for him. It was Carol, or no one. Daryl had been thinking about it a lot. Their future. Thinking, and wondering whether she’d ever thought of a future with him.

He was at a loss for how to get through to her. He’d tried everything he could think of. When their group was outside the cave following that ordeal, Daryl was overwhelmed by the endless pressure of the constant vigilance required to prevent Carol from going full kamikaze and killing herself. When Connie and Magna were trapped inside and most likely dead, Carol was hysterical, believing he’d just lost the love of his life. Daryl couldn’t find his voice, he could only point at her in righteous anger at her lies and betrayals and broken promises. She couldn't see how it was killing him, she couldn't see what she meant to him, and it broke his heart.

Daryl couldn't believe _she_ believed Connie was that person for him, that she couldn’t see it had never been Connie or anyone else who wasn't Carol herself. Even after all the things he'd said to her from his heart. He'd begged her with tears in his eyes and still she rushed headlong toward death like she couldn’t wait to catch that train. Then the cave had collapsed with two of their people still inside. The combination of everything was too much for Daryl. He'd left the scene of the tragedy as quickly as possible, not wanting to lose his shit and break down in front of the others and at a loss for how to respond to Carol’s weeping, clutching hysteria as she begged him to blame her for everything.

Seeing her walk through the gates of Hilltop with the King later gave him mixed feelings. Daryl knew Ezekiel did love Carol in his own way, but it was a possessive, self-centered kind of love. Ezekiel enjoyed that everyone knew a legend warmed his bed. Her presence at his side was a flattery. Daryl perceived that Ezekiel clad himself with those closest to him as if they were adornments. Carol was like the magnificent tiger the King once possessed. A powerful, beautiful and dangerous presence that he needed a chain to hold on to. For a long time, Henry was the chain with which the King held Carol. Then Henry was gone, the chain snapped, and she ran away. If Daryl had learned anything, he’d learned you could almost always count on Carol to run away when life was pain.

He'd felt her presence behind him at Glenn’s grave. Strange how they both ended up there, remembering their lost friend, the gentlest one among them, full of laughter, life and love. Daryl knew what it was like, to blame yourself for the death of someone you cared about. For the longest time he’d blamed himself for Glenn’s. Glenn wouldn’t have wanted that, and neither did Maggie. Daryl had finally reached the point where he could forgive himself. He knew all too well what Carol was going through now, blaming herself for losing Connie and Magna.

Daryl stopped by Glenn’s grave on his way to war, and Carol had shown up and begged him not to hate her. He’d wanted to tell her he loved her, to finally say the words that fought to be freed into the open air. “I'm never gonna hate you,” was all he managed. It was enough to start her crying tears of relief. And he’d turned and walked away, because it was either that or to cling to her and cry with her. Daryl couldn’t do that to either of them, not in the minutes before a war with the skin freaks that was likely to leave them both dead or gravely injured. 

Neither of them died, of course. They survived. Again. And once again, Carol vanished. Daryl couldn’t find her anywhere after the battle. When he’d gone to the shack where Lydia said Negan had kept her tied up, he’d remained in the shack and waited. For what, or for whom, he wasn’t sure, then Negan materialized with his story of how Carol freed him from his prison to kill the Alpha. Daryl knew in his heart it was true. It was the kind of unsuspected, brilliant tactical move she was known for making. It just hadn’t happened fast enough. 

“What is it with you guys?” Negan demanded when Daryl rebuked him for the delay. He'd used that word to define Carol's relationship to Daryl: Girlfriend. Negan blurted what no one else had dared to say out loud. It worried Daryl to think anyone might perceive the depths of his undeclared feelings for Carol, especially a vulgar, mocking asshole like Negan. Negan saw everything. It was one of the few qualities in him that Daryl both despised and respected. 

Negan paid attention to what was happening around him at all times. Negan had known what Daryl was going through while they sat on that log waiting until well after dawn, and Daryl hated that Negan knew his weakness and was empathic about it. It made Daryl feel vulnerable, and fearful for Carol. If Negan ever wanted to destroy him, he now held the key. For all Daryl knew, Negan could have heard it from Judith. She was always reminding them that they were part of a set, "Uncle Daryl and Aunt Carol". She might have mentioned them in that context. Maybe Negan had picked up on others talking or speculating about them from his cell. It didn't matter how he'd found out, what mattered was that Negan knew, he just fucking knew.

Negan waited with Daryl all night, and Carol hadn’t returned. Hours after his ass had gone numb from sitting, Daryl finally got up from his uncomfortable seat on the log and walked home, Negan straggling a respectful distance behind. Daryl stationed himself at the Alexandria gate and remained into the evening, when Carol finally walked up to it just before dusk.

Carol coming home was monumental. A damn miracle. Daryl had done everything in his power — short of literally tying her up — to keep her with him, and she’d still run again and again. He'd told himself if Carol didn’t return this time, maybe she wanted him to let her go.

When Daryl opened the gate at her approach, he knew she could tell he’d been waiting for hours. Neither of them spoke. Daryl wasn't alarmed by the silence. They didn't always use or need words between them. Carol had come home, maybe just to face whatever it was she’d run away from to begin with, but Daryl didn't care why. Things between them were still far from resolved, but for the first time since Henry’s death, Daryl felt real hope. Instead of disappearing herself for weeks, or months, she'd returned after little more than a day. That was new. It occurred to him maybe Carol was trying as hard as he was...

She was injured, Daryl could tell by the way her arm hung limp at her side outside her sleeve. The pinched, pale cast to her features said she was hurting. Sudden concern stabbed at Daryl as he remembered they had no doctor in Alexandria now. Carol, with her skill at stitching and patching up human bodies, was the closest thing to a medical provider the community had left.

Carol met his eyes and hers were unreadable. He could tell she was exhausted, and in pain. He wanted to offer her his help, he wanted to hug her tight and cry in her neck, he wanted to shout at her until his voice was gone. Instead, he lowered his own gaze and clutched the gate for support as she passed him with not one word nor another glance. 

He closed the gate and followed her down the street and up the front steps of their house.

Their house. How Daryl had longed to share a home with her. He’d been so happy when she moved in with him and the Grimes family. Happiness was still a relatively new emotion for Daryl. On the nights when he slept at all, he dreamt of her. Thoughts of Carol consumed him as much in sleep as his waking life. He felt closer to her than ever before. Addressing the depth of the bond between them weighed heavy on his mind, and he'd been gradually working up the courage to do something about it.

Then, one morning, Daryl woke up and Carol was gone, leaving behind only the things in her room and a note on the kitchen counter. Michonne was pissed, and the kids both cried. Daryl cried later, alone in the woods far from Alexandria where no one could see or hear his grief. He got it, though. He understood her unrelenting need to run away from pain. 

"Hey,” Daryl called, as Carol was making to bolt up the stairs to her room. She stopped and turned, still silent, not quite meeting his eyes. “You need any help with that?” Daryl asked, gesturing at the arm she cradled to her chest.

Carol hesitated, then nodded. “Shoulder’s dislocated. I could put it back by myself, but...help is better,” she admitted.

"Where you wanna do it? What do we need?”

She looked around, frowning. “The dining table would be best...I need a flat surface to lie on.” Carol backed away from the stairs and turned toward the kitchen as she struggled out of her jacket. Daryl moved quickly to assist. He took the jacket from her and draped it over a chair, and started to clear off the table as Carol pulled her knuckle duster from it's scabbard and set it on the counter with her bag.

“Where are Judith and R.J.?” Carol asked, “and Lydia? Are they all right?”

“They're alive and healthy. Earl had the kids safe in some shack in the woods, but he got bit and turned, and Judith had to put him down,” Daryl explained, transferring items to the island counter. “The kids are with Gabe and Rosita tonight. Hell, every kid in town’s over there. We’re taking them all to the tower in the morning. Safer there.” He blushed, turned away, and gestured at the now empty surface of the dining table. “Here you go. What’s next?”

Carol pursed her lips and thought a moment. She was intrigued by his blushing, Daryl didn’t do that much. Was he shy about touching her, or worried about hurting her, or both? Then she climbed up onto the table, awkward with her bad arm. Daryl made as if to help her, and she shooshed him away as she fumbled carefully down to lie on her stomach, at the edge of the table. Her dislocated arm dangled down toward the floor. “Okay,” Carol said, “Here’s where you come in, Pookie.”

Her use of the old, familiar nickname gave him a twinge. Daryl knelt on the floor beside her. ‘Tell me what to do.”

“I need you to take hold of my arm, and just pull straight down, but slow, with steady pressure. No jerking or tugging. Just slow and easy, 90 degree angle, until the shoulder pops into place.”

“That simple, is it?” Daryl asked, suspicious. “I ain’t gonna make it worse?”

Carol snorted. “Well, you could, but I don’t think that’ll happen. Just do it nice and gradual. Don’t force it.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m not gonna lie, it's gonna hurt me. I might cry out, but don’t stop, OK? It’s always worst right before it goes back into place.”

She took another deep, trembling breath, and Daryl carefully grasped her forearm just above the wrist, and began to exert a gentle pressure, straight down. Carol nodded. “More,” she hissed through clenched teeth. As he pulled steady and slow, tears of pain leaked from Carol’s eyes, and she whimpered. “Almost there!” she cried, sensing his hesitation. “Don’t stop, Daryl!” 

In spite of her fresh agony, Carol wondered what someone passing by and hearing her cries would think was happening in the house. Then the pain went white hot and she gasped, beyond crying out. There was a muffled click, and the pain suddenly lessened.

“Stop! It’s good! Thank God,” she breathed. Daryl released her wrist and stood up, and Carol rolled slowly onto her back, carefully massaging the shoulder with her right hand. “It’s good. You did good. You fixed it.” She flashed him a bright smile of relief. “Thank you.” Her eyes sparkled with sudden humor. “I knew I could count on my best friend.”

Now it was Daryl’s turn to snort. He hid his immense relief behind sarcasm, as they often did with each other, both of them so careful to protect their secretly tender hearts. “What are you, ten?” 

Carol gave a little giggle and sat up slowly, with caution. She was exhausted, yet full of relief. A dislocated limb was not an injury to have in the midst of a war. She shifted around so her legs dangled off the side of the table as she continued to gently press and feel around the shoulder joint. She glimpsed the cord tied around her wrist — a talisman that had stayed with and brought her comfort through so much already — and she tentatively waved it at Daryl, a smile playing around her lips. “I still have the bracelet my best friend made for me.”

"I still have the double capper my best friend gave to _me_ ," Daryl responded. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. When the talk of friendship and tokens came up, he felt awkward. It was like he couldn’t sit still, all kinds of emotions flooded his senses and it was too much of an overload to continue meeting her eyes. He was afraid she would see what was behind his own and run from it, as she had run so many times before.

“Do you really still have it?” Carol asked. “The double capper.”

Daryl pursed his lips and nodded, seeming to look at something interesting on the floor. “I do.”

They were both silent, each alone with their own thoughts. Carol fondled the bracelet on her wrist and a miserable rush of remorse about all the wrongs she’d inflicted on him surged through her. Lying. Breaking her promises. Going behind his back. Plotting with the man who’d murdered Glenn and Abraham. That had to hurt. The one person she loved most in the world, she had all but shattered his trust. The pain and suffering in his face as he pointed at her outside the cave was a memory she would always be haunted by. Her recklessness has caused the death of the vibrant young woman he should have been with, and yet here he was, still at her side, and after everything. Her best friend, the one who never judged her, who never hurt or betrayed her. With Alpha finished, he was the only reason she still cared to live at all. Carol was careful to avoid thinking about just how much Daryl meant to her. The depth of her feelings for him frightened her more than marauders or walkers. She wasn’t sure how to deal with it. It was alternately thrilling and terrifying to contemplate.

"Did it bring you luck?” she asked. "You said we had luck on our side."

Daryl looked up from his reverie, nodding. “Neither of us died in the cave or the fight. We both got lucky that way, so, yeah, I'd say so." His blue gray gaze met hers, and held a moment. “Still hopin' I might get lucky with what matters most, but I--" He stopped, and fixed her with a steady gaze. He brushed his hair back and out of his eyes so she could see his sincerity. "What do _you_ want, Carol?" he asked in a husky voice.

_What do you want? What do you want? Say it. Say it!_

Carol shook her head. “I can't say it," she muttered, overtaken by pain and fatigue, amazed she was even still upright. "I just can't, Daryl. I'm sorry."

“Why not?" he asked softly, puzzled. Daryl leaned closer and touched her good arm. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

“Mmmm.” Carol scrubbed her tired face with her hand. She gingerly lifted her injured arm and laid her cool, slender fingers over his. “What do I want? Does it matter anymore,” she asked in a weary voice, "what any of us wants?” She hung her head. “You want it, you get it, you lose it. Over and over. In an endless cycle." Her tired eyes rose to meet his. "It’s the way the world works now. Maybe we’re not meant to have our heart’s desires.”

"No,” he argued. “That ain’t the way it is.” He shook his head, his stormy blue gaze fixed on hers. “It ain’t the way life’s gotta be.” He paused, then gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I remember, one time, when you said what it is you wanted,” Daryl offered tentatively, almost shy. “It was a long time ago. Maybe you've changed your mind.”

"Really?” Carol asked. “I don't remember that." She brushed away his efforts to assist her down and off the table. “I’m fine now. Daryl. Just sore and tired. Remind me what it was that I wanted."

"You really don’t remember? I’m sorta surprised. You usually know exactly what you want, and you were...adamant,” he said, a little proud of himself for being able to find the perfect word when his heart was suddenly pounding that he should be so bold as to bring it up, after all the time and everything that happened since. Surely she didn’t still mean it. If only she knew what and how he had gambled on it — what would she say or do? Daryl was terrified he was about to find out. 

Carol grasped at his arm. She clutched at him, first one hand, then both, clinging to his bicep like she was never going to let go. “Daryl,” she said, her voice cracked and broken. “Oh, Daryl. I took away what you needed. What you deserved. I robbed you of her. I'm so sor—“

"Stop that shit!” Daryl snapped, whipping his head round with a frustrated grimace. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, how many times do I have to say it? Me and Connie, it wasn’t that way. It wasn’t that way Carol, an’ it never coulda been.” 

"But...” Carol began, haltingly. Daryl wasn't finished.

"You see what you want to see, I guess," he continued, "There wasn't nothin' extra there, Carol. Ever."

Carol scoffed at him, but she seemed confused, too. “You went on runs together, you were always seeking her out...”

"I liked her as a friend. Connie helped find Lydia and bring her back with Henry." Carol flinched at the sound of her dead son's name. "She seemed like the good kinda person to know, right? I wanted to learn to speak in signs...Somethin' like that can give us a big advantage for huntin’ and strategizin,’ sneaking up or sneaking away. Having a whole conversation in silence,” he concluded. This time, Daryl looked her full in the face. “I been on runs with Maggie, Tara, Rosita and Michonne, too. Spent weeks alone on the road with Beth. You got a...fixation, here. Not that it matters, now, I just wanna know why, when I tell you it's not like that, you don’t believe me.”

“I just — she was — she is — so beautiful, and smart, and kind. Why wouldn’t you—“

"Maybe she’s not my type,” Daryl said, desperate for this conversation to end. He half-turned toward her, and laid his right hand over his heart. He had the double capper in his breast pocket and could feel the hard little nodules against his palm. He always carried them with him now. “Carol, I swear it was never that way. We were friends, like I'm friends with every other woman I go on runs with. Or been on the run with. Ain't never been nothin' more than that."

Carol’s breath hitched in her chest. “But, why not?” 

"You asked me that before. I got the same answer now: Why does it matter?”

"Because...because you don’t need to be alone.”

"I ain’t alone. I got you. Got Lydia. Got Judith and R.J. until Michonne gets back, and who knows when or if that’ll happen. I have a family now, a family more real than the blood family I's born to. I’m so far from alone."

Carol was frozen in place, staring at him, her lips parted, eyes glimmering as they filled with sudden tears. Her hand rose to her throat, in amazement or an instinctive defensive move, he couldn't tell. It was the same expression she'd worn when Daryl showed up at the house outside the Kingdom when Carol lived by herself. The look on her face when she’d opened the door. She mirrored that moment now, and suddenly, Daryl knew with certainty. It gave him fresh confidence.

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes when he said it. “After the farm, when we were on the road. I asked you what you wanted, and you said a man of honor.” His voice didn’t waver or crack as he spoke, and he was grateful. On another level, he felt like he might pass out from anxiety in the moment.

“I did,” Carol mused. “I remember now. And you...” She’d resumed clutching his arm with both hands. Daryl could feel her trembling. “After Herschel and Glenn died and Rick disappeared, you’ve tried so hard to choose the high road. I haven’t seen you lose yourself to a negative impulse since you beat down that Savior at the bridge camp. _You_ are a man of honor, Daryl.” She gave him a smile that was sunny and sad at the same time.

"You still wantin' a man of honor, then?" he asked. "For your own self?"

Carol searched his face, her blue eyes wide. She started to speak, once. Twice. Cleared her throat and toyed unconsciously with the bracelet again, not looking at him. "I do," she admitted.   
  
"You ever think about me that way?" he asked. His fight-or-flight instinct was screaming red alert. It took every ounce of his willpower to fight a wild impulse to flee the room.   
  
Carol sighed. "I don't deserve you, Daryl. You're a good man. You're honest. Honorable. Loyal."

"Pfft. Even Dog has them characteristics," he said dismissively, gesturing as if the compliments unnerved him and he needed to wave them away. "An' you forgot dirty, vulgar an' uneducated white trash. Hot-tempered. Impulsive. I'm all'a them things, too."

"We all have our flaws," she said. "I've got plenty of my own. You don't see the people of this community looking to me to lead them, though." She wanted to run away, too. He could see it in her face, and in her body language as she shifted and fidgeted in place. “And here you are, my best friend and a man of honor, helping tend my injuries and comforting me when I’ve lied to you, snuck around behind your back and conspired with your sworn enemy—“

Daryl tilted his head back and eyed her. “Yeah, something tells me I’ll be gettin’ over that soon...”

She wiped her face with her injured arm, winced, and curled it against her chest. “Over which? Your hatred for Negan, or my lying and sneaking?”

"Both of 'em. Negan, he’s, well, he just wants to live like a person now, and don’t ya think we kept him like an animal in a cage long enough? If we ain’t gonna kill him for his crimes, maybe we should give him a chance to prove he can redeem himself. He did kill the Alpha. You sent him on a mission, and he followed it all the way through. Had to be dangerous as hell." Carol quirked her brow at him, and he rushed on, “And if you ain’t gonna be lying to me ever again,” pinning her with his piercing hunter’s gaze, “then we don’t need to waste any more of our future worrying about it.”

Her heart felt light with hope, like it was going to float right out of her chest. “Pookie, what are you saying? What do you mean?”

“By what?”

She made a face. “Our future?”

Daryl started to speak, stopped, then sighed and looked at her mournfully. “Don’t you know? Can’t you tell? Have you been listening to anything I been sayin? _Carol_.” The smoky undertones in his voice as he looked her in the eye and said her name struck a chord deep within her, and she remembered why she had run to the boat. As she held his gaze, Carol sensed that struggle they both felt when things between them got real. 

Daryl forced himself to meet her eyes, and was he saw in them was a dawning realization, mingled with astonishment, and hope. It emboldened him even more. He might as well lay everything he had on the table. 

"You ain’t the only one that’s been lyin,’” Daryl confessed. “I been pretendin’ for so long sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between what’s true, and what I just keep telling myself.” He swallowed hard, then continued. “Worst part was when I told myself I wasn’t never gonna be good enough for you...so I practically pushed you at the King. Regretted it ever since. You deserve to be Queen, though. You are one, anyway—“ He broke off as Carol raised her uninjured arm to lay her cool fingers gently on his lips. Daryl was silent, certain she could hear his heart hammering In the quiet of the empty house.

“How long have you felt this way?” Carol whispered. She stroked his cheek, once, before brushing a stray lock of dark hair from in front of his eyes. Always hiding behind his fringe, it was one of Daryl's subtle defenses.

"I tried to tell you,” he insisted. “So many times. You were listening for something else, maybe? I dunno. Tried telling you when we were out looking for Negan. Tried telling you in the cave.”

"What about before I married Ezekiel, Daryl?”

“What about it?”

“How long before?” She asked.

His stormy blue eyes were full of love and sorrow. “Always,” he replied. “Since before the farm. My heart...it belongs to you.” He chewed nervously on his lower lip, and gazed off across the room. “Now I said it out loud and there it is, and maybe we’d both be better off if I’d a' kept a lid on it. But I figure we got a good chance as ever of dyin’ soon, and I ain’t gonna waste another minute pretending you’re any less than everything to me.” He forced himself to meet her gaze.

Carol's eyes glimmered and tears spilled over and coursed down her cheeks...but she was smiling, the residual pain in her shoulder, the aches and exhaustion of the long night before forgotten. Daryl turned towards her, leaned in and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. Carol closed her eyes and tilted her head against the warmth of his palm. Then she reached for him and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and held him so tight he could feel her heartbeat.

"I want to say and do so much right now,” she murmured into his neck. “but I need a shower more than anything, first. Will you join me?”

Daryl swallowed hard. “In...in the shower?” he fumbled.

She pulled back and gifted him with that wry, Carol smirk. “Yes Pookie, in the shower. Will you?” Even in her boldness, he could hear the tinge of self-doubt and hesitation in her tone, like she expected him to refuse and was already preparing to deal with the rejection. 

"Ain’t no shampoo in the upstairs bathroom,” he said, “but I got a bottle downstairs.” He pulled her back in and nuzzled her. “Some coconutty-smellin' stuff I found on a run. Got a big bathtub down there too...one of those old fashioned, claw-footed types. It’s ... it’s big enough for two.”

Carol pulled back to study his face. She seemed surprised he was playing along. "A bath sounds much nicer than a shower,” she said, “but I might get relaxed enough to fall right asleep after, and I kind of want to stay awake for a while."

Daryl took both of her hands in his. “Look, we both ain't slept in a couple days. Tomorrow we’re moving out every living soul in Alexandria. We gotta tough time coming, let's just get cleaned up and get some rest. I wanna share the tub with you...wanna be with you. Got no expectations 'cept I ain't letting you out of my sight." He leaned forward, tilted his head and kissed her gently, slowly, cradling her face between his warm, calloused palms. He was good at it, suprisingly so, and it caught her off guard. She moaned a little from a sudden surge of desire and anticipation.

They retreated down the stairs to Daryl’s basement lair. Carol had been there once before, and then only as far as the door. Daryl waved her into his room with a satisfied little smile that he tried to conceal. His living space was not what Carol expected. She was familiar with Daryl’s camp in the woods where he'd lived for years while she was at the Kingdom. It was primitive, but the camp and its structures and lines of defense had a sense of organization and neatness to them...when he was not struggling within himself, as he'd been the last time, when she'd shown up with Henry. 

Daryl's room was tidy, divided into spaces for living/relaxing, and for work. A table by the window held a fly tying vise, a small anvil and a can full of assorted hammers and metal working tools. Near the vise sat three large canning jars full of feathers, fur and sinew. A selection of ropes and cords he had woven on those long winter nights by the fire hung neatly coiled from hooks and pegs on the wall. A rack full of freshly tipped and feathered bolts sat next to an identical rack full of arrows. A third rack held blanks and bolts and arrows in progress. Carol recognized the fletching on the arrows from her own, and whirled to confront him.

“You told me you traded for the arrows,” she said petulantly. “You’ve been making them yourself? All of them?” Her voice rose an octave as she thought of how he had cut, straightened, fletched and tipped every single arrow she had shot from her bow since returning to Alexandria. She drew one of the arrows from the bin and ran her fingertips from end to end, admiring its perfection. “I always wondered who you got them from. I wanted to return the favor and bring you some bolts.” 

“You aint gotta give me nothin,” he said. Daryl closed the door to the room behind him, then leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed. “I wouldnt’a felt right about bringin' you arrows an' not knowin’ if they was gonna fly true. Only way to be sure was to make ‘em myself.”

Carol smiled gently and put the arrow carefully back into the bin. “You always look out for me, Daryl,” she said. “I haven’t been very appreciative, and I haven’t been there for you...”

“Stahp.”

“It’s true.”

"It ain't important. You been there for me when you can. When you were queen of The Kingdom, you still came out to the woods to visit my shitty camp, and it sure wasn't no fit place for royalty. You helped me work through it after we lost Beth. You didn’t even tell me to fuck off when I yelled at you on the farm...” He paused. “The things I said that night were the worst I said to anyone. Ever. I didn’t mean none of it. I cared for you too much already." He sighed. "I guess I thought it made sense to scare you away so you’d stop scarin' me...” He smiled wryly. "I was pretty fucked up back then. Still am in some ways."

“It’s about what I’d expect from either one of us,” Carol mused. “We’re not who we were before. Both of us have changed, so much.” She stepped into his space and reached up and combed her fingers through his hair. “Just remember that I liked you first," she breathed.

“Stahp.” He was smiling, though, smiling and blushing. “We gonna take a bath, or stand here all night butterin' each other up an' swappin' true confessions?”

“Lead the way,” she said, gesturing. Daryl took her wrist and led her to the bathroom, surprisingly neat, like the living area. “You’re full of surprises today,” Carol said, looking around the room as Daryl put the stopper in the tub drain, turned on the faucets and started filling it with hot water. 

“Expecting something messier?” He asked. 

"Much.” Carol picked up a bottle of body wash, popped the cap, smelled it, and nodded. “This is nice.” She set it on an end table next to the tub. The water splashed and echoed in the room. Daryl opened the window to let the steam out. He was nervous, moving around the room and finding things to do. He fetched a couple of towels and wash cloths, and a bottle of shampoo from various locations. 

Carol sat nervously on the side of the tub while it filled. After several minutes passed and the tub was half full, she seemed to make a decision and stood up. She started unbuttoning her shirt. Daryl cast a surreptitious glance at her, admiring her freckled clavicles and the swell of her cleavage, and swallowed. He was already growing hard and she wasn’t even naked, yet. He stopped fidgeting with the towels and emulated her, unbuttoning his own shirt, then shucked it off his broad shoulders. His torso was streaked with dirt and walker blood. He heard a phlumph as Carol’s pants hit the floor. She straightened and faced him, her hand resting on the edge of the tub.

Daryl looked at her as she stood naked before him, and he rapidly realized he was going to have a problem when he took his own pants off. The sight of her breasts, small, high and pale, with dark aureoles and rosy nipples, literally took his breath away. He tried not to stare, but he was hypnotized by the vision before him, every inch of her lovelier than the last. Even with her skin splotched with all the dirt and filth from her own wretched last couple days, Daryl was convinced he had never seen anything so perfect. Her body was criss-crossed with scars of all shapes, sizes and ages, but in the moment, he only perceived her overwhelming beauty. His knees actually trembled and he clutched blindly at the wall to steady himself.

“Breathe, Daryl,” Carol said, and he sucked in a loud, gasping breath. They both laughed. 

“You’re beautiful,” he croaked, still staring at her in adoration.

She eyed his crotch and grinned. “I can tell you think so, and I’m happy that you do. Now get out of those boots and pants and get in here.” Carol stepped carefully over the lip of the tub — the thatch of mostly silver curls between her thighs solving one mystery Daryl had secretly wondered about for ages — and lowered herself slowly into the water, wincing slightly at the pain in her shoulder, but still smiling. It had been a long time since she had a proper tub bath in water that was better than lukewarm. She almost moaned with the pleasure of immersion, throwing her head back, eyes shut, and smiling.

Daryl was still staring at her. He could have remained rooted to the spot appreciating the sight of her for hours. His circuits were still blown from watching her strip to her skin in his presence without hesitation. Daryl had caught glimpses of her body here and there across the years, changing her shirt, bathing in the quarry half dressed, once wrapped in nothing but a towel. To have all of her exposed to him at once was almost too much for him to behold. Even her feet were lovely, slender and shapely, with delicate toes he imagined sucking on.

“Why are you still way over there?” Carol teased him with flirty eyes. She smacked a short burst of bath water in his direction with her open palm. “Come'ere. I won't bite...unless you'd _like_ to be bitten, _"_ she added seductively, her mouth curving at the corners in a Mona Lisa smile.

Daryl leaned over, teetering a little, and unlaced his boots, kicked them off, then pulled off his socks and slung them to the floor. He straightened and started unbuttoning his fly with shaking fingers. Carol watched him intently, her eyes sparkling with interest. Daryl wondered if she had secretly snatched glimpses of him, too. He shoved his pants down in one swift motion and stepped out of them, his erection bouncing up against his belly to announce its intentions. Daryl could feel himself blushing, but when he mustered the courage to seek out Carol’s eyes again, he saw that she was staring at his body in a puzzling combination of lust, awe and sadness.

"What is it?” He asked, hesitant and filled with sudden, wrenching doubt.

Carol raised her hand, hushing him. She stood gracefully, sheets of water cascading down her elegant legs, and held her hand out to him, beckoning. “Here. Now. I want you close, I want to feel your skin. No more waiting." She fixed her clear blue eyes on his. "All the time we've wasted? That shit is done.”

"That shit is done,” he agreed, gripping the side of the tub and stepping over the edge. Carol still held his other hand. They stood nude and knee deep in the water, gazes locked and at a loss for words. There was a new kind of tension in the air. Daryl half expected Carol to crack a joke, but she didn't. Both of them smelled of sweat and walker, earth and blood and their deepening arousal. Carol moved around behind him and urged Daryl to sit in front of her. He froze for an instant, and then her warm palms were pressing on his shoulders, pushing him gently down, and he sank into the water to sit, then felt her soft lips peppering kisses across his scarred and sensitive back. An involuntary quiver ran through his whole body. “Carol,” he said softly, as she stretched her legs out and held him between her thighs.

Carol had the bottle of body wash and a rag, and she dipped the rag in the tub and squeezed a large glob of the body wash on it, before thoroughly and sensuously washing Daryl’s neck and shoulders and back. She gestured for him to stand, and then washed his legs and his ass, slowing occasionally to offer a loving caress with her free hand. “Turn,” she commanded. Carol smiled at his erection, waving hello in front of her nose as he pivoted to face her. She stood and washed his chest, armpits, and belly, but when her hand reached his crotch, he clutched at her wrist. “Better let me do that,” he growled. “You might...make a mess.” He peered at her from behind his sweaty fringe, flushed, but smiling faintly.

Daryl took the washcloth from her and cleaned himself while Carol knelt and watched with fascination. He had to be careful not to go off, being in a bathtub naked with Carol while touching himself was almost too much to endure. When Daryl finished, she snatched the rag back and washed his strong thighs and calves, then beckoned for him to sit again. There was a plastic container on a side table next to the tub, and Carol used it to pour water over Daryl's soapy body, sluicing off the remains of the very long last three days. She rinsed the wash rag several times, then put a dollop of body wash on it and reached out to wash his face and and his ears. Daryl closed his eyes, his expression alternating between a grimace and utter euphoria. Carol switched the wash cloth for the shampoo, humming as she squeezed a bit into her palm, rubbed her palms together, then lathered his beard and hair, working the shampoo in with her fingertips as he lolled like a puppy under her touch. A soft sound escaped him, and a moment later, Daryl gave a great sigh.

He was covered in lather, and Carol took the plastic container and dumped cup after cup of water over his head, working her fingers through his hair and ensuring all of the soap was rinsed out. She rinsed and wrung out the washcloth and dried his face so that he could open his eyes to gaze at her in adoration.

As she bathed him and caressed him, the tension had leaked out of Daryl’s body and now he was just putty in the tub, so blissfully happy he felt as if he'd float straight up to the ceiling if Carol hadn't had a grip on him. It was crazy to feel such joy, considering one or both of them would probably die in the coming days. 

“I’ve found my moment, and I’m keeping it,” he rumbled contentedly. "Your turn, now.” He hung his head a little, gesturing at the murky water. “Shoulda been ladies, first.”

"This is fine,” Carol said, handing him the clean washrag and the bottle of body wash. "We're going to share more intimate substances than bath water before long." They exchanged positions and she turned so her back was facing him, now. She felt both his warm hands, on her bare shoulders, squeezing them, not too tightly, just holding onto her, almost as if he thought she would spring from the tub and run away again. He leaned forward and laid the side of his face against her back. He could hear her heartbeat thudding beneath her ribs. Daryl slipped his hands down and around her arms to carefully cup her breasts. Her nipples stiffened beneath his touch, and his lips curved in a shy smile at this evidence of her desire.

Daryl took the washcloth and shower gel and now he washed Carol's back and arms and shoulders, hesitant, but with a reverence that rendered her silent for once, when ordinarily, her self-defense mechanism would have kicked into high gear by now, sending smart ass remarks or denials flying from her lips. When Carol felt vulnerable she cracked jokes or got snarky. This was one of the things that endeared her to him, but could be frustrating when she broke a moment. Daryl knew she only did it to run from her feelings. He could sense her struggle to stay silent now, not because she didn’t like what he was doing, but because she did. That she permitted him to touch her like this when she was physically and emotionally exposed without saying something smart to protect herself from her feelings spoke louder than any sassy remark ever could. 

Daryl held her hips and raised her up, Carol stood and he scrubbed the globes of her firm ass and her sinewy thighs and calves. She turned to face him and suddenly he was gazing straight into her thick tangle of wiry, salt and pepper curls, gleaming with droplets of water, and maybe something else. He drew in a sharp, deep breathe, then stood with her and gently sudsed her front, starting at her neck, working down from one breast to the other. He washed under her arms and down her sides and stomach. When he returned to her crotch, she smiled wickedly, a challenge, and stepped a little to each side to widen her stance as he sank to his knees before her, pupils dilating and nostrils flared. He leaned forward, brushed a fluff of suds aside, and placed a lingering kiss on her belly between thatch and navel. He felt her warm skin quiver against his lips. 

Daryl looked up at her. "You're beautiful," he said again, in a voice hoarse with lust. "Want ya so bad. Always have," he confessed.

She smiled down at him, bright-eyed with unshed tears. "I've always wanted you, too." She ran her fingers through his damp hair. "I guess we're both late bloomers. "

"Pfft," he scoffed. "Sounds like something Merle would'a said. Better late than never though, right?" He added another dollop to the wash rag and as he had done with her, she took the washcloth from his hand and cleaned herself. She warched his face as she massaged suds into her curls and beyond. He reached out tentatively in his desire to assist, and she trembled beneath his hand. Daryl could feel the heat radiating from her core as he cupped her mound with his palm.

She clutched at his wrist, and pulled him back down into the tub. She quickly rinsed the soap from between her thighs. The water was cooling rapidly, and Daryl's only regret was that they had to hurry now because it was going to be uncomfortable soon. Carol reached up and removed the pins from her hair and set them aside. Her long, silver tresses tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. Daryl squeezed shampoo into his hand and lathered her mass of hair. The silken feel of it in his hands and the wet heat of her skin against his as she leaned into him was intoxicating.

When she picked up the container and made as if to dip it in the now visibly dirty water, Daryl took it from her, shook his head, and reached around to pull the plug out of the drain before turning the spigot back on. They stood again, and Daryl filled the container over and over with fresh, warm water to rinse the dregs of the dirt and the last of the suds from them both. He handed her one of the oversized, fuzzy towels he'd retrieved earlier, and they stepped out onto the mat together and dried each other off, smiling. Carol winced once when she torqued her shoulder lifting the towel to fluff his dark auburn hair. "Easy," he cautioned, taking it from her. "Maybe you should sit this one out, tomorrow."

She shot him a look from beneath her brows. "You did not just say that."

"I mean it. You're still hurt. And it ain't gonna be like we're just killing walkers." He ducked his head. "You're one of the strongest people I know, but you got an injury that might affect your ability to fight, maybe even get you killed." He looked back up at her with pleading eyes filled with something like desperation. "I can't lose you. Not now."

Carol stepped closer, reached up, and took his face in her hands. "You're not going to lose me," she promised. "We're not going to lose each other ever again." This time, it was she who leaned in, raising up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Daryl wrapped his arms around and held her in a full body hug, the heat and hardness of his erection pressing against her. He shivered at the tentative, then bold touch of her tongue on his, and reciprocated. They stood in a naked embrace, kissing in the doorway.

Carol drew back, took his hands in hers, and led him into the living room. She pushed Daryl down onto his back on the blanket-strewn couch that was his bed. "Wait," he said, once. She ignored him. Her eyes were hot with desire as she unceremoniously climbed on top of his naked body, grasped his aching hardness in her hand, and guided him into the slick heat buried beneath her curls.

He never forgot the sound Carol made as she sank with excruciating slowness down along his length until she was sitting in his lap. She moved the slender fingers of her right hand down to rub herself, and their eyes locked as she rode him, face flushed and pupils dilated. Daryl was relieved when she took charge. He knew he was a decent kisser, but his experience beyond that was rare and minimal. He reached up to fondle her breasts, breathing hard and struggling to sustain his last shred of self control. Their mutual rasping breaths and soft moans quickened their passion. They were a dozen strokes in when Carol's eyes filled with sudden surprise and her wet heat spasmed tight around him as she shuddered and cried out.

As she jerked and clutched at him, Daryl sat up and drew her against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and exploded inside her with a loud groan. She continued to grind herself against him until they were trembling and twitching with aftershocks.

Carol startled them both by bursting into tears.

"It's OK, I gotcha," he whispered, holding her close and stroking her wet hair. "M' sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm not hurt," she sobbed. "You feel so good." She clung to him, nuzzling his neck. "I don't know why I'm crying, I'm so happy right now." She let out a little laugh. "I'm just crazy Carol. Hadn't you heard?"

"You're a goddess, is what you are," he murmured. He pulled back, taking her face between his palms and kissing her again. She responded with enthusiasm. Daryl wished it would never end. He was aware only of Carol; the taste of her mouth, the feel of her bare skin beneath his hands, the softness of her --

"Oh, shit!" He drew back abruptly, staring at her in horror. There was growing panic mingled with apprehension in his blue eyes. "We didn't use nothin. What if I made ya --"

"Shhh, easy, it's all right," she purred reassuringly, carding her fingers through his damp hair. She never seemed to tire of touching his hair. "I snuck out long enough to get my tubes tied after Sophia was born. We can always ride bareback. I wouldn't want to have you any other way."

"Pfft," he snorted, a little embarrassed by his outburst. Shame and guilt had overwhelmed him at the thought he might have knocked her up. It still wasn't a safe world to be pregnant in, and most people their age were becoming grandparents, not having babies of their own. "Think I was the one gettin' ridden. Not that I mind," he added quickly when he thought he saw a flash of doubt in her face, "You can have me whenever and however you like."

"I'll take you up on that offer," Carol whispered, drawing him close. "We need to do this a _lot_. We have so much time to make up for." She tucked her head under his chin and sighed. 

"Please don't run away no more," he rumbled, tightening his grip on her. "You're everything to me. I can't keep losing you."

"I won't, and I'm sorry about that, too," she said with a sigh. "I broke your trust. I intend to make up for that. For all of it." She dropped a line of kisses along his neck.

"Ain't nothing to make up," Daryl said. "We just start again and let the past stay in the past. Finish with these fuckin' Whisperers and get on with our lives. Our future."

"Our future," she echoed. "I like the sound of that, Pookie." She stroked the back of his neck and traced her tongue delicately along his jaw. Daryl plunged his hands into the damp silver waterfall of her hair and chased her mouth with his, kissing her until their lips were swollen and he was stiffening again inside her. They clung together, panting. "Show me," Daryl urged, and she led his hand to that tight bundle of nerves where he soon had her crying out and spasming around him so violently he couldn't help but follow soon after. He felt like he'd never get enough of her.

They laid down on their backs, their breath slowing, sweat and the remnants of the bath drying on their bodies. Daryl reached for Carol's hand and she threaded her fingers through his. He remembered the women's shelter, when they had gone out looking for Beth. It was the first time since that they had laid down on a bed together. 

"We should have done this back in Atlanta," Carol mused aloud, as if reading his mind. "I wanted to. I was scared."

"Scared of what?" He snorted. "You ain't scared of nothin'."

"That's what you think," she said, squeezing his hand, "but it's not true. I'm scared of a lot of things. I'm scared of losing you," she added in a choking voice. "I've always been so afraid that if I let myself love you, you'll die too, just like everyone else I ever cared about. I may have doomed you now, and I can hardly bear it."

"Nah," Daryl assured, releasing her hand and wrapping his arms around her. "The only doom was not bein' honest about our feelin's. Ain't neither one of us hidin' nothin' from the other anymore. Any doom dares to come our way, we'll kick its ass together." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Let's just be alive with each other as long as we got. Can't never count on tomorrow, but we got right now. I don't wanna waste it."

"Can you again?" she whispered, reaching down to fondle him. "Mister Crossbow nocks another arrow --" Carol dissolved into peals of laughter as Daryl rolled her onto her back. Her laughter changed into a passionate moan as he pushed slowly inside her. Carol wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him close. Daryl thrust into her with mixed disbelief and euphoria, both at his own stamina, and the whole fantasy come to life: Carol naked in his arms, warm and wet, wanting him as much as he wanted her.

Their third session of lovemaking lasted long and left them both drenched in satisfaction. They had no shyness now, only passion. The sensations and sounds they wrung from one another spurred them to greater heights of ecstasy than either of them had experienced with another. Afterward, they trembled and clung together, each reluctant to let go of the one they'd desired so deeply, for so long. Daryl pulled up a heavy mink blanket and draped it across their bodies. 

"There goes that bath," Carol teased. 

"Pfft. No one'll notice. Probably gonna die tomorrow anyway." 

"We're going to die tomorrow?" Carol queried. "You waited until now to tell me?" She pursed her lips and studied him from beneath her brow with twinkling eyes. "You just wanted to get laid, first."

"Wanna tell you something else, too--" Daryl began, but Carol shushed him and laid her fingers gently across his lips.

"Tell me tomorrow," she urged, "or the next day. After the fighting is done. When we're on our way back home. All right?"

"Want to tell you now," he muttered. "Might not have tomorrow."

"You're one of the most skilled fighters I know," she said, "and in case you haven't heard, I'm a certified badass, myself. I think we've proven we can hold our own in a fight. We have our own superpowers. We'll survive, Daryl."

"We're the ones who live," he added. "Michonne used to say that."

"We're the ones who live," she repeated. "I like it."

They both fell silent, thinking of their absent friend, her children now left indefinitely in their care, the hard day to come, and each other. They lay entangled, sweat still drying on their bodies, at peace, together at last. The next day would surely bring battle and losses, and it was on both their minds. Still clinging to each other as darkness fell over Alexandria, they surprised themselves by falling into a deep sleep.

*************** 


	2. Spectator Sport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caryl's morning after in Alexandria.

  
There was a repetitive, annoying sound in her head. It went on and on, endlessly. Carol struggled to ignore it, her heart breaking even as she came reluctantly out of her dream. 

It had been her most vivid and erotic dream of Daryl yet. They took a bath together, then screwed themselves senseless. She imagined the heat of his body against hers. Imagined she still felt the sensation of his arm, warm and heavy, wrapped around her waist. Tears stung and burned at the corners of her tightly closed eyes. Her subconscious was too cruel, to torment her in such detail.

As it dragged her up from sleep, the annoying sound gradually morphed into knocking. Someone was knocking on a door. Insistently. They weren't going away. Then Judith Grimes' clear voice rang out, a little muffled on the other side.

"Uncle Daryl? Aunt Carol? We're all getting ready to leave."

Carol felt Daryl's dream-arm flex and tighten around her as he pulled her back against his chest and raised his head from the pillow. "Thanks for the warnin,' Jude,'" he called gruffly, "Be there soon."

Carol rapidly became aware of the following: She was naked and Daryl really was lying next to her. From the feel of him, all up and down where his warm body pressed against her back and legs, he was naked, too. They were in his room, snuggled together under a thick, soft blanket on his couch. The smell of sex in the air was also real, as was the delicious soreness between her thighs. 

The night before was coming back to her in flashes, like hallucinations or fever dreams. They'd taken a bath together then writhed in Daryl's bed for a long time, finally collapsing into a sticky, tangled mess. She remembered riding him like a Valkyrie to one of the most intense orgasms of her life in under a minute. She remembered lying on her back, holding him close with her arms and legs as he panted against her neck and pounded into her. She remembered the perfection of the way they'd fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. They'd been insatiable. Both of them moaning and crying out in ecstasy, losing all inhibition to their long-suppressed and deepest desires. 

Carol rolled to her left, as she did every morning, half expecting the fantasy to burst like the bubble it always was... and found herself looking straight into Daryl's eyes. He shifted a little to adjust his hold on her and make it easier for her to turn. He seemed different. He was lighter somehow. As if a great weight had been lifted from him. His adoration shone on her without filters, his customary guardedness was gone. He was an extension of her dream, this Daryl. One who was open to her without barriers, who now smiled shyly at her through a tangle of sleep-tossed hair with smoldering blue eyes that told her he was remembering everything, too.

_It's not a dream. It's not a dream. This is real. This is happening._

"This is real," she breathed, reaching out to run her fingers over his lips. "You're real."

"It is," he replied, kissing her fingers, "I am. We are." Carol traced the outline of his lips and he caught one of her fingers playfully between his teeth with a mock growl. Carol smiled and nuzzled him with a catlike purr. Both of them laughed softly. 

Carol drew back a little and a brief shadow of concern flickered across her brow. "Judith knows."

"Sorta seems that way," he agreed.

"If Judith knows, then everyone in Alexandria knows." 

"That bother you?" Daryl asked. Carol detected a note of insecurity creeping in.

"No. God, no. Never." Carol leaned toward him and kissed him once, twice, a third time. "Never, ever," she said. "It's just... a little awkward? I mean, I didn't see anybody else out and about when we came in last night. Did you?"

"I ain't worried about it," he said.

"Then neither am I," she agreed, sitting up slowly. Her entire body ached. 

It was hard to distinguish between what was sore from the the trying days before, and what was sore from last night. They'd been athletic in their enthusiasm. A little smile twitched at Carol's lips.

"What?" Daryl asked, glimpsing the smile. He propped himself up on an elbow and reached out to stroke his other hand along her warm thigh. 

"Just reminiscing," she said softly. Carol laid her hand over his, and offered him a bright smile, the smile that illuminated her face and eyes, transforming her entire being. He hadn't seen that smile - her real smile - in forever. It made his heart swell so much he could barely stand it.

"We goin' steady now?" he teased. "I see you're still wearin' my bracelet. That's gotta mean somethin.'"

She raised her left arm and gave her forearm a shake, the braided cord shifting back and forth around her wrist. "The post-zombie apocalypse version of your class ring or letter jacket," she said with a wink. He huffed in amusement, then sobered.

"I ain't had neither a' them things... Never had a girlfriend," Daryl confessed. "Don't think I been what you'd call boyfriend material." He took her by the wrist and traced the path of the braided string tied around it. "Negan called you my girlfriend the other day. Said you let him outta his cell." He raised his palm quickly to stop her, before she could speak, "Ain't asking about it, s'done, Negan held his end up. Alpha's dead, Lydia's alive, no need to worry 'bout the rest."

"Really?" she asked incredulously. "You're just letting that go?"

"Really," he confirmed. "I get why you did it, and it worked. Ain't gonna start questionin' your logic now."

"I hated lying to you," Carol said. "I swear to God, Daryl, I won't ever -"

"Stahp. Don't be makin' promises you ain't gonna keep."

"How can you even," she huffed in exasperation. "You don't know what I'm going to say."

"You're gonna promise never to lie to me again. Right? 'Bout as much chance of that as you bein' quiet when we..." He trailed off and looked at her suggestively. Carol let out a delighted, tinkling laugh, like fairy bells. She felt lightheaded, almost drunk. 

"Me, noisy?" Carol squeaked. " _You_ weren't exactly silent." It gave her a twinge deep inside to remember the moans and cries they'd wrenched from each other in the dark.

"Felt too good." He was looking at her with an expression that might have been contentment. "Better'n anything I imagined in my head, and I imagined a lot for a long ass time. Thought I was dreamin' when we woke up here today."

Her eyes opened wide and she gaped at him. " _You_ dreamed about _me_?"

"Hell, yes. Every night. For a while there, thought I was gonna lose my damn mind."

"You dreamed about me," she said repeated, in wonder. 

Daryl smiled and took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "If I had my way, I'd stay here with you in this sorry excuse of a bed for the next year, but we gotta get goin'. They're all waitin' on us." Reluctantly, he threw back the blanket, and they both struggled to their feet. "Jesus," Daryl mused, "feels like I got hit by a truck. Ain't no spring chicken anymore."

"We're just not used to it," Carol explained, "and if we make it through today, and the next..." she turned and cradled his face between her palms, scooted closer and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him, "...we're going to practice as much as we possibly can."

"Im'a hold you to that," he said, taking a long moment to return the kiss, then backing reluctantly away and moving toward the closet for a clean t-shirt that he whipped over his head and thrust his arms through in two swift motions. He selected a second, long-sleeved dark button down shirt and tossed it onto the couch, then went to retrieve his pants from the bathroom floor. He felt a draft, and noticed the window he'd opened the night before was still ajar. Daryl stood staring at it for a long moment, nude except for the t-shirt, pants in his hands and deep in thought, gnawing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

Carol appeared in the doorway naked as Venus, canted her hip and leaned against the jamb. "Daryl Dixon, please tell me you are _not_ putting those pants back on." 

He turned to her, confused. "We gotta get dressed," he said. "I ain't goin' out there in just m'birthday suit." 

"I mean _those_ pants," Carol insisted. She pointed at them. "Those pants are, well, they're filthy, Daryl. They're filthy and disgusting, you can't get the walker smell out of them -- I've tried -- they're more patches than pants anymore, and --"

"I should wear my best britches to a fight?" He queried, puzzled. "Why?" He stepped into the raggedy black pants, pulled them up, tucked himself carefully in, and buttoned the fly. "There's gonna be blood and walker goop and who knows what else flying around and sticking to us out there before it's over. If I'm gonna pick a pair of pants to wear through that sorta shit, they sure as hell ain't gonna be m' best."

Carol was confused. She'd always believed he wore those horrible pants simply because he didn't care about his clothes, which he didn't, but that was hardly the point. What Daryl wore was serviceable, and he had always been practical in his ways. 

He didn't squander or waste anything, Carol realized. She felt more than a little guilty about assuming there was no real method or purpose to his less appealing habits. She should have know by now that everything Daryl did was deliberate. 

"Well, I think we need to conduct a ceremonial burning of those particular... _britches_...when we get back," she suggested, then asked, "Why bother with a clean shirt when you're putting the same pants back on?"

"Got lots of shirts. Easy to find ones that fit. Not many pants, though." Daryl stood there looking at Carol with an expression she couldn't quite define. He was breathing hard, and almost seemed a little sad, or desperate, or both. 

"What is it?" she asked softly.

"We took a bath together and fucked last night," he blurted out. "Three times. Was...somethin' else. I ain't never...I mean, I been with a woman before, but not -- not like what we did last night. There ain't been anyone I trusted enough to let em' see that much'a me. Only person I ever wanted that with was you. Thought it'd never happen, and here we are. Kind of hard to keep my head in the game now, let alone worry 'bout what I'm gonna wear to kill walkers and Whisperers." He eyed her up and down. She realized his predicament when he reached down and adjusted himself in the raggedy pants. "We're goin' to war, and you're standing there without a stitch on, and all I can think is how beautiful you look and how bad I wanna get up in and all over you again. You're killin' me, Carol."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. One arm flew up to cross over her breasts, the other hand dropped to cover her crotch, and she tucked her head in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the fact that she was beaming. Did Daryl just say that the sight of her body made him crazy? Was she living in one of the books she used to read when she lived alone outside the Kingdom? "I don't want to put my dirty clothes back on, though," she explained. "I need to run upstairs and get something fresher. It's just me, it's just the way I am. I can't spend another day in those filthy rags."

"Alright," he agreed. "Wait, though. I got somethin' here for ya. Don't hafta run through the house naked." He walked to the closet, rummaged briefly within, and handed her a surprisingly luxurious pink chenille robe. The chenille was cut to look like a pattern of roses. Dozens of roses, buds, leaves and open blossoms. Carol raised her eyebrows and held the robe at arm's length, admiring it. It really was lovely, and it appeared to be exactly her size. "Is it a coincidence this is hanging in your closet, Pookie?"

"Nah," he confessed, tucking his shirt in. He was bold, and a little proud, like the day he'd made her the bracelet. "Found it on a run a while back. Looked like it'd fit and it's pink... Like ya in pink. Meant to give it to you, but I didn't think you were wantin' or noticin' pretty things much right then, so I just been... keepin' it. Keepin' it and waitin' for the right time."

"The right time," Carol repeated, then she offered him a sunny smile. "This is the perfect time." _Found it on a run? Found it, or risked your ass out on the road to acquire it?_ She clutched the soft robe to her chest momentarily, then slipped it on, beaming and running her hands delicately over the soft chenille. Daryl was on the verge of buckling under the nearly overwhelming urge to remove the robe from her body and ravish her again just as another knock rapped at the door.

"Be there soon, Jude," Daryl hollered. 

"You two need to hurry up. Everyone else is waiting." It was Aaron speaking through the door, this time. "You guys overslept. The rest of us have been ready to go for a while."

"How in the hell does _Aaron_ know?" Carol hissed, confounded.

"The window," Daryl muttered under his breath.

"What about it?" 

"The window in the bathroom. It's still open." He waited patiently for her to come around to remembering, then nodded when her blue eyes widened dramatically as she blushed scarlet and clapped a hand to her mouth. 

"That's how they knew we was in here together. Probably every soul in Alexandria was listenin' to us last night."

Carol didn't mean to laugh. She was alternately embarrassed, proud and unrepentant. She imagined the silence of the community as everyone packed up and hunkered down to leave in the morning with the possibility of never returning. The quiet that kind of a mood brings. How still the streets would be, with only the turning and splashing of the water wheels, the soft creak of the windmill blades and the leaves rustling in the evening breeze to break the silence.

Meanwhile, there they'd been, lost in one another and practically under an open window, both relinquishing all restraint and blissfully unaware they had an audience. The more they revealed of themselves the greater their arousal became. They went up in flames of sensation together, temporarily oblivious to anyone or anything else in existence.

Carol had been around the block a bit, and there wasn't much new to her by the time she got to Daryl. Or so she'd thought. She'd already found comfort in the knowledge that, with Daryl, there wasn't going to be any wondering or worrying whether it was good for him, or if he had an issue about her being on top. There was only his complete and total concentrated attention, all focused on her, absorbing and encouraging her reactions and responses.

When she'd shown him how she touched herself, she hadn't expected him to master the technique so quickly. It had taken Tobin days to figure out what she wanted and needed, while Daryl spent all of two minutes on the crash course then passed at the head of the class. A little shudder coursed through her, not of apprehension, but of pleasure remembered. He still surprised her at times, and never more than he had last night.

She'd wondered what passers-by might think of the noise when Daryl was resetting her shoulder. That was nothing compared to the racket they'd made later on. A giggle burst from her again, then when she tried to suppress it, a snort.

There was a loud triple rap at the door. "We need to _go_ ," Aaron insisted from the other side of it. "I really am sorry." 

Carol tied the belt of the robe, shrugged, then marched to the door of Daryl's room, and opened it. "Aaron," she said brightly. "Good morning." This delivered with the traditional Cookie Carol eye-batting and a graceful Susie Homemaker smile, in spite of the flush she knew was creeping up her neck to envelope her entire face. She was busted in Daryl's room at the crack of dawn, reeking of sex with her hair mussed and wild, clad in only a robe, and she was utterly radiant.

Aaron smiled and ducked his head in a nod. "Your Majesty."

All three of them froze. Aaron looked as if he was going to choke. His eyes were wide and horrified at what had just come out of his mouth. It was not what he'd intended to say. She was just so luminous and regal, and she _had_ been the Queen for years. It was a slip, accidental and unintended, but Aaron was mortified.

"Don't call me that," Carol said quickly. 

"Sorry, Carol, of course. I'm sorry." Aaron stepped aside and gestured gallantly for her to pass, his expression contrite. 

"Nothing to be sorry for," she said, "I was Queen, but I'm not, any m-- "

"Hey, now," Daryl growled from behind her as he slipped on and buttoned the long-sleeved shirt. "Don't you even." 

With a crooked smile and a twinkling side eye at Daryl, still smiling, Carol raised the hem of the robe and briefly dipped her knees in a sort of curtsy to both men, then ducked around Aaron and quickly ascended the two flights of stairs to her room.

"I'm sorry," Aaron apologized again, watching her go. "I don't know why I said that."

Daryl made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry 'bout it none." He got it. Aaron had always followed the protocols established by Ezekiel. Whether it was out of respect for the concept of the Kingdom, or because he found it amusing, Aaron had consistently addressed the royal couple as Your Majesties during their reign. 

Daryl had often called Carol "Your Majesty" too, but in a teasing tone and more as a joke. He knew she was embarrassed to be treated or perceived as royalty. "It's all make-believe!" she'd gush in exaggerated enthusiasm, "it's playtime!" and her musical laughter combined with her utter frustration with the entire royal facade never failed to tear at his heart. Sometimes when she visited his camp she would rail against it at length -- the mere concept of a Kingdom, of a King and Queen, and a prince with a royal guard and subjects -- what lunatic fantasy was that to inflict on people, as if any real order or predictability existed long-term in an apocalypse. As if a title could change who you were. In spite of everyone pushing it at her, Carol rarely took it seriously, except for days like the one when the leaders of Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside and the Kingdom signed the pact between their communities. She'd signed her name with a flourish: _Queen Carol._

"She looks really happy today," Aaron said. He sounded relieved. He studied Daryl for a moment, then smiled. "So do you. Sorry, man. I hated being the one to break things up. Judith didn't want to bother you a second time."

"Ain't doin' nothing but sleepin'," Daryl explained. He gnawed at a cuticle, and considered his next inquiry. He already knew the answer, but asked anyway. "How come y'all know we was in here together?" This was followed by a minute of silence in which Aaron stared at the floor. 

"Daryl," Aaron finally said, hesitant, and dared to look up at him. 

"Everyone knows. You were both..." he shrugged, "...pretty loud, last night." 

There was a long minute of silence as they stood there, contemplating the situation.

"Yeah," Daryl finally conceded with a heavy sigh, "We was wonderin' about that. Forgot to close the window. Y'all get yer rocks off, listenin' in?" he bristled.

"Hey," Aaron said, putting his palms up and extending his arms. "I think it's romantic. Okay? It's about time it happened. It _just_ happened, right?" He took Daryl's silence as an affirmative. "I'm sorry Eric's not here. He saw you two were connected on a whole other level from the moment your group first walked through the gate. I've been waiting ever since, for both of you to figure it out."

"That obvious, was it?" Daryl asked, searching for his knives.

Aaron regarded him with calm affection. "Yes. Yes, it was. It still is. Don't waste your time trying to hide it, now. You'll fail. Miserably," he added, grinning. 

Daryl had located his knives and was putting them on with his belt. "Never been too good at keepin' my feelin's 'bout nothin' to m'self," he muttered irritably. "Sometimes it's a problem."

"I wouldn't say there's a problem here," Aaron reassured him. "Carol looked like she was going to levitate and float all the way to her room. What did you do to her?"

Daryl shot him a crooked grin. "Same thing she done to me - I hope." He started to say something else, then stopped himself. Started and stopped again. 

"Spit it out," Aaron encouraged him. 

"I dunno how to do this," Daryl confessed. "Be with someone. 'In a _relationship_.'" He made the quotation marks with his hands as he said it, and a pained look flickered across his rugged features. "I'm _fifty_. Half a century old and ain't never. Don't know shit about it, or how to. Probably gonna fuck everything up." 

He sat on the couch to put on the gaiters he wore to keep the crawly things out of his pants and boots in the field. It gave him an excuse to look anywhere except at Aaron. When he sat down, Daryl started flashing on the memory of Carol above and beneath him and beside him. He knew he'd never use that couch again without seeing her on it: Naked, glorious and beautiful. He felt a stirring and almost laughed out loud.

"You seem to be doing fine so far," Aaron said encouragingly. "You're still you. She's still her. Right?"

"Nah, man. Everything's different now. I mean yeah, we're still us, but we're not the same's we were. Before." Daryl finished fiddling with his gaiters and finally made eye contact. 

"I don't wanna mess this up. I dunno what I'm doin.' Carol's my best friend, has been, more'n ten years, now. We been through a lotta shit. I almost never think of my life 'fore she was in it. I wanna be there for her, in the right ways, but I don't know what I'm doin.' I don't know what I'm doin' an' I don't wanna stop, and I don't wanna let her down." He averted his gaze and ran a hand nervously through his shaggy hair.

Aaron laughed. "That's pretty unlikely," he chuckled. "She seems willing to take a chance on you." 

Daryl remembered those winter evenings at home, the ones when he'd caught Carol watching him. Daryl would look at her and find her sitting utterly still, staring at him with an expression he didn't recognize and couldn't identify. It was intense and electric and sent a current through the air between them. He didn't have to see her looking at him to know she was looking... he could _sense_ it. Every damn time. He knew it wasn't a bad thing because it always made him feel warm. She looked at him like he was something she wanted, something she _needed_. Like he was a glass of water and she was dying of thirst.

The instant his eyes met hers, she'd break their gaze and turn her face away. Then she'd reach down to the bag at her feet, pull out a pistol and a rag and start disassembling the gun. Or she'd stand up and go to the kitchen and fix them all something to eat. Or later, not long before leaving for Oceanside, she'd grab her jacket, walk out the front door and pick up an impromptu shift on perimeter patrol. Anything to avoid his eyes after he caught her watching him like _that_.

His mouth twitched into a wry and self-deprecatory smile. All winter and spring, he, Daryl Dixon, the mighty hunter who could spot a deer a great many yards distant in heavy timber, had clearly been asleep at the switch during his time spent indoors. It strengthened his conviction about the subject he raised next. He was awake now, and he intended to stay that way.

"Aaron" he said, looking up, "I need a favor."

"Name it."

Daryl got to his feet, took his vest from the back of the chair where he'd slung it the night before, and flipped it on in one swift movement. He checked all his clothes pockets for his essentials; a small whetstone, a Zippo lighter, an extra, small knife, a coiled length of strong cord he'd woven himself, the double capper, and the keys to his bike. 

"If Carol falls out there? I'm goin' down with her. If it happens, I need you to promise you ain't gonna try an' stop me. An' you ain't gonna let anyone else try an' stop me, neither."

"Daryl --"

"I know it ain't fair to put you in this position. No one left here now besides Carol that I trust a hundred percent. I trust you 'bout 98 percent." He looked his friend in the face and held his gaze. He needed Aaron to understand how earnest he was. "If it happens, let me go. Don't risk your life or anybody else's tryin' to save a dead man. 'Cause if I lose her? That's the only thing I'll be."

"Sure, Daryl," Aaron assured him. "I get it. I promise you, if that happens? I won't get in your way and I won't let anyone else get in your way. That's not what's going to happen, though. Just so you know."

"Well I hope you're right," Daryl said, visibly relieved. "Like to live long enough to spend some time where we ain't a spectator sport."

"My suggestion," Aaron offered cautiously, "would be to close the window prior to the next performance _and_ soundproof your room."

"Asshole," Daryl growled. "You ain't helpin' none."

"Truth be told, it was _hot_ ," Aaron mused. "Extremely hot." He shot Daryl a suggestive look. "Like burning on the face of the sun hot." 

Daryl froze, staring at him, then chuffed, and good-naturedly shook his head as his face turned red. "Shaddup."

*********

Carol lifted the hem of her robe and ran up the steps. Aaron calling her "Your Majesty" had caught all three of them off guard. She expected Daryl to bristle at it, and he hadn't, and this fascinated her. It showed a new confidence within him where she was concerned. He wasn't threatened by her past with the King, because it was exactly and only that...the past. Quickly gaining distance and shrinking in her rear view. There was only the future ahead of them, _their_ future, as Daryl had said.

Carol still hardly believed her new reality. After all the years of secretly longing and wishing for him, always waiting for someone else to sink her talons in and steal him away forever. She'd only pushed him at Connie in a desperate effort to have some influence over who eventually got to have him.

Daryl was and had always been a diamond in the rough. For years, Carol watched how females of all ages -- and some men -- lurked after him. His admirers usually took pains to perform their admiring when they thought the intimidating bowman wouldn't notice and was out of earshot, but not always. Daryl seemed oblivious to the glances cast in his direction. Carol had observed women attempting to seduce him. Some of them were decades younger than her, with unmarked, velvet soft skin, youthful, curvy bodies and lovely faces. The roaring inferno of jealousy that consumed her when they lusted after him was alternately disconcerting and enlightening. 

In all cases, Daryl showed zero reciprocal interest and shrugged every would-be suitor gruffly, but politely and firmly, away. Carol had wondered if he was asexual and simply didn't have the same needs most others did. Now she knew her theory was, of course, complete and total bullshit. It never occurred to her that he was holding out for what he really wanted, or that what he really wanted was her.

She was painfully aware that neither of them really knew what the hell they were doing. The situation still terrified her, it was just a different brand of terror than the flavor she'd tasted _before_ they fucked each other's brains out. She both desired and feared the transformation of their relationship to a physical one. Carol wanted to move ahead but her feet felt rooted to the spot. Going forward was scary, exciting and intimidating, and going backward was impossible. Maybe if she hadn't had such a terrible marriage for so long, she theorized, she wouldn't be overthinking every aspect of her relationship with Daryl.

Ed had abused her, victimized her, even raped her. Before she practically shaved her head, he'd grab a fistful of her hair and slam her face into the wall. Yank her arm and dislocate her shoulder. Burn her with cigarettes. Sometimes he bit her until she bled. The taste of her own blood in her mouth was a frequent occurrence. He tortured her both physically and psychologically and told her what a worthless, useless piece of shit she was until she actually started to believe it. 

Then Ed miraculously perished, and she was suddenly free from his prison. Daryl had handed her a pickaxe at her own insistence, and Carol destroyed what remained of her tormentor with a fury that took her completely by surprise and left Daryl wary and respectful of her rages ever after. She burned and rose anew from the ashes of her former self like the phoenix she was, neither of them suspecting nor imagining the future rebirths yet to follow. 

Carol had limited experience with men. There had been Ed and only Ed and his cruelty and torments for over a decade. Then Tobin. Tobin was a bona fide nice guy, a stable, no drama type of man. He was a brief diversion Carol hadn't realized she both needed and would tire of so quickly.

Zeke was a performer, a cosplayer. He enjoyed his theatrics and make-believe. In all aspects of his life. _Now we pretend_ was the rule of thumb for time spent in public with the King, and sometimes it extended to their private life, too. She'd played the part, acted the role. Whatever else she thought of him, she knew Ezekiel did love her in his own way, and he'd never been cruel or injurious towards her. He liked to play and was fun in bed, and that had been new and a pleasure for Carol. But he had never owned her heart. Not like Daryl did.

Daryl was...just Daryl. Uniquely, individually, naturally Daryl: A complex and mesmerizing combination of innocence and knowing, all packaged up in that feral, sexy man's body. All intensity and emotion and an animal hunger Carol wanted to drown herself in. Wallowing in him was a pleasure so intense that when they were together, she forgot about every bad thing that ever happened. It was fleeting, real, and addictive - she was already craving more - and she didn't know what to call these emotions and sensations because they were so new and foreign to her. 

Her sense of happiness and completion when they'd been together was overwhelming. She was simultaneously terrified and full of joy. The combination was unfamiliar to Carol, and several times she'd had to fight back an urge to laugh maniacally. 

Everything she'd ever wanted was in her hands now, for her to cherish and nurture, or to ruin and destroy. Running was no longer an option. She'd promised Daryl she wouldn't, and it was a promise she was determined to keep. He deserved at least that much, and maybe, just maybe, so did she.

**********

Carol opened the door to her room where, she mused, there was a dresser full of things that fit her, but nothing as lovely as the robe. She couldn't help but run her hands repeatedly over the patterns, reading the roses in the soft fabric beneath her fingers as if they were Braille. She wondered what Daryl had gone through to get it for her.

Carol was impatient, she didn't like to wait too long for what she wanted and she'd already waited over ten years. She would never get enough of him to make up for time lost. If Aaron hadn't knocked on the door when he did, she might have shoved Daryl against the wall and climbed him like a tree. Wanting him all those years had been torture for her, and when they got too close together for too long, when she was sure she couldn't stand another minute without flinging herself at him, she'd leave. Which was stupid, so damn stupid, because _all this time they could have been together..._

_She needed to focus. The Whisperers were coming. They had to get the kids out of here, everyone else was ready and waiting on them._

Carol quickly found clean pants, a couple shirts to layer, socks, and a jacket. Like Daryl, she went commando. Her trench knife, she realized, was on the kitchen counter where she'd set it down last night before they fixed her arm. It felt like a lifetime ago, and gnawing at the edges of her mind was the mental rebuke that if she hadn't been so desperately in heat, she would never have left herself as vulnerable to attack as she did by leaving her knife not only in a different room, but on an entirely different floor of the building. Things like that were part of the reason why she'd attempted to avoid entanglements in the past. When you gave in to your passions and were ruled by your heart, you let down your guard. You forgot things and made mistakes, and that was what got people killed. 

A shiver ran through her body as she thought again of the events of the night before. If she dwelled on the memory for too long, her heart might just implode. They'd been separated for mere minutes and it was already almost more than she could bear. Carol dressed quickly, and carefully folded the chenille robe, tucking it into a drawer. She wondered if she would ever see or wear it again. She ran her hand over the roses one last time, then closed the drawer and straightened to face her reflection in the mirror. 

Carol didn't recognize her own eyes. Whenever she'd gazed on herself before, she saw someone cold and hard and a little pathetic, a desperate, lonely woman tormented by loss and guilt. Her features had softened, her eyes were brighter, and for the first time she remembered, she felt nothing negative or derogatory toward the woman looking back at her.

Daryl had said she deserved to be a queen. The sight of her naked turned him on. Although they hadn't said the actual words, she knew he loved her, that they loved each other. Everything she had dreamt of, and more, had become her reality, and that also meant she had all of it to lose. Bile and panic rose in her throat. If anything happened to Daryl, it would kill her. A world without him in it was a world she would never survive, a world she didn't want to survive.

When Sophia died, it was like taking a blow with a jagged blade that ripped her wide open and laid her heart on the ground. As if she'd gushed blood and lived on the edge of death for months before the wound finally scarred over enough for her to attempt to heal and move on. 

Carol's hatred for Alpha had nearly consumed her grief for Henry, it charred her deep sorrow to smoke and ash and left only a residual sadness behind. Instead of mourning the loss of her son as most mothers would, she'd turned her grief into rage and theoretically burned down the entire house with everybody in it. Her reckless pursuit of Alpha had taken her beyond reason and brought destruction and death to the innocent -- the hazards and collateral damage of passion -- the thing she feared, what she had always feared, the costs and price of love. What might she blow up or burn down over Daryl, if it came to that?

Carol gave herself a little shake. "Nope," she said, "not going there." She fussed with her hair for a few minutes, brushing the tangles out, then rolled it up and pinned most of it back. She let several long, silver locks escape to drift next to and frame her face. She had the impression Daryl enjoyed brushing it back with his fingers. It gave him an excuse to touch her, something she'd come to realize they both sought between them: physical contact. _Mere hugs now be damned,_ she thought, remembering the throb and feel of him in her hand when she took hold of him for the first time. 

Carol turned away from her reflection and padded downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve her knife. The messenger bag she used as a tote was also on the counter. She hadn't remembered leaving it behind, either. 

"That's what you get when you're drunk on pheromones like a horny teenager," she chirped to the empty room beneath her breath, checking the contents of the bag to determine what she might need to add. She suspected Lydia and the kids hadn't packed anything and who knew if they'd even eaten breakfast. She filled six water bottles and and grabbed some last-minute food items; a loaf of sourdough that she broke in half so it would fit in her bag, a couple packets of venison jerky, a big hunk of hard cheese wrapped in a bandanna, and a double handful of shelled pecans that she poured into a deerskin pouch with a drawstring. 

"Hey" Daryl called out, as he and Aaron came upstairs to meet her near the front door. 

"Hey," Carol answered back. They stood rooted to the floor, staring at each other, not sure of what to say. 

Daryl had carried her boots, belt and scabbard up from his room. He held them out to her and Carol set her bag down and took them and put the belt on, eased her knife into the scabbard and adjusted it, then stepped into her boots and laced them up, a few loose strands of hair dangling in her face as she worked. She straightened and picked up her bag to sling it over her good shoulder, brushed her hair back, and tucked the loose strands behind her ears. Her eyes met Daryl's again and they stared at each other helplessly.

Aaron swiveled his gaze back and forth between them. "I'm going to let myself out," he said quickly, looking at Carol. "I can buy you five more minutes." He nodded at Daryl, then turned and left.

"Did he say whether they heard us last night?" Carol asked, setting her bag down on the floor again and immediately drawing close to Daryl and taking his hand in hers. Their fingers tangled and played together. 

"He did. They did."

"It figures," she said, leaning against his shoulder. "I'm embarrassed to walk out there in front of them. I'm embarrassed to be embarrassed, too, because we really don't have anything to be ashamed of."

"We don't," Daryl agreed, raising her hand to his lips. "Not a thing."

"I wish we had more time," Carol said.

"We will...after." 

"What if we don't get to have an after?" she asked. "What if this is as good as it gets for us?"

"Are you havin' regrets? Rather we hadn't done what we done?" 

"No! No. I just -- dammit -- I want _more_. We deserve more." Her eyes were bright with the fire that always burned in her when she felt strongly about something. "We might be marching to the end of everything right now. I wish we had time. More time together, just us. You. Me. That's what I want. It's _all_ I want. It's what I need. Is that so terrible?"

Daryl pulled her into his arms and she went quickly and willingly, her arms wrapped around him and her head tucked under his chin. They stood there in silence for a long beat, holding onto one another and feeling each other breathe.

"I wish we had more time too," he said into her hair. "If it wasn't for them three kids waitin' out there, I'd scoop you up on the bike and get us the hell out of Dodge, right fuckin' now. But we can't just leave everyone else on their own all of a sudden, especially not Judith and R.J. And what about Lydia? She ain't grown yet, either. We can't run off and leave her behind."

"And Dog," she added, sniffling. "I know. You're right." She smiled at him through a sparkle of tears that filled and spilled over, and Daryl raised his other hand to her face to wipe them gently away. Carol closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. 

"When this is over, we'll go away for a while, just the two of us," he promised. "Not for a long time -- the kids and all -- but we can take a little vacation. A road trip. Go off by ourselves an' not hafta worry 'bout anyone or anything else for a few days. How's that sound?"

"It sounds too good to be true. Count me in, Pookie."

He bent down and kissed her softly. "I'll always count you first."

Carol returned the kiss with enthusiasm until they both finally had to come up for air. 

She drew back a little. "You can never choose me over the kids," she said decisively. "That includes Lydia, too. Daryl. Promise me." He glanced away, and she took hold of the front of his vest with both hands and gave him a little tug. "Hey. Look at me. I need you to say _Yes, I understand."_

Daryl sighed. "I hear what you're sayin.' Ain't gonna choose between." His eyes bored stubbornly into hers, daring her to push back. Carol was silent. She released his vest to reach up with both hands to cradle his face between them, gifting him with a bright, happy smile. 

"You'd probably rescue us all, if it came down to it," she asserted.

"Pfft," Daryl scoffed. "You're the one who saves the whole damn group."

_I'm the one who slaughtered those Wolves, too,_ she thought. _I'm the one who burned people alive. More than one person, more than one time. I blew people up at Terminus. I mowed down groups of Saviors. I'm the one who shot a child in the back of the head, who terrified a little boy with a false threat of a horrible end that came true for him, after all..._

"Carol. Hey." Daryl's voice coaxed her up and out of the abyss. "Where'd you go?"

She tipped her head forward and rested it on his chest. "Nowhere good. Sorry. Inappropriately dark thoughts. I think I need to just hold you right now."

She leaned up into him, and ran both hands down from his face to travel under his vest and along his ribs to wrap around his back and hold him close enough to feel his heartbeat again. The moment drew her out of stark reality for a long, luxurious minute. She just couldn't get enough of touching him. It was like there was a tether between them and they could only get so far apart now before she started to lose her bearings. God help her if they both survived the coming days, she wasn't sure how long she could resist groping Daryl whenever the urge struck. Now that she knew she was more than welcome to touch him, Carol wasn't about to stop.

He held her as close as she held him, dropped a line of kisses along her neck, then eased his way around to her mouth and her eagerly parted lips. She indulged them both for a few seconds, then returned to her latest crusade. "You need to choose the kids first, Daryl. Always. I can't --" she audibly choked "-- I can't lose any more of them." She raised her eyes to his, still huddled against him. "I'm so, so sorry for everything I ever did that hurt anyone, especially you."

"Don't you start that shit," he said. "You know you're gonna do what you do when you need to do it. Worry 'bout being sorry later. Maybe. I'll forgive ya no matter what it is you think you done." He stroked her hair reassuringly, brushing the loose tresses back and tucking them behind her ears as she'd known he would, then leaned back, shooting her a wry and crooked smile. "We ain't even married yet and already you're tryin' to tell me what to do."

"Yet?" Carol repeated, her voice cracking a little. "You'd actually marry me?"

"'Course I would," he said, surprised. "Shoulda grown a set and made a counter offer when you told me the King asked for your hand. Ain't never been anyone else for me an' there's never gonna be."

She reached up and pulled him down to kiss him one last time as they heard Aaron's boots rattling back up the steps. She was well aware that public displays of affection -- other than reunion hugs -- weren't Daryl's thing, and God only knew when she would find a safe and private opportunity to put her mouth on his again. "After this is over, we're going to make up for all the years we missed," she whispered against his lips. "All of them. One day at a time."

"Yes ma'am," he agreed. 

Carol picked up her bag again and slung it over her good shoulder. They walked together to the door and opened it just as Aaron was raising his metal arm to knock. The three of them descended the steps to the street and walked down the block to the windmill, where the rest of the community was clustered, waiting to depart. 

More than a few people were staring at them, some with nods and knowing smiles, but most avoided meeting their eyes. A couple of the younger hunt apprentices pumped their fists at Daryl, and he ignored them. A cluster of women Carol considered to be nasty old biddies exchanged remarks below their breath and shook their heads as they passed. The group who worked in the community kitchen stood together, shooting Carol alternating looks of deep envy and bloody murder.

Carol and Daryl, both feeling terribly exposed and careful not to make direct eye contact with anyone, walked over to stand next to Lydia and the Grimes children.

Judith and Lydia were pink-cheeked with embarrassment. They'd been listening to the rest of the community talk about the couple since the night before. Both girls were concentrating hard on looking everywhere except at the two of them. R.J. seemed oblivious to the drama and was fiddling with a miniature Etch-A-Sketch, a gift from Rosita. He looked up at Carol and Daryl, then his gaze dropped to their linked hands, then drifted up to their faces again. Then he turned his attention back to the toy.

All the adult eyes were on Daryl, awaiting his lead. 

"Sorry to keep y'all waitin,'" he apologized with a wave of his arm. People started to move out. The horses and wagons passed through the gates first, followed by the dozens of people who would walk the miles to their destination, among them Carol, Daryl, and the family they'd recently assumed the care and feeding of. 

For the first mile, no one in their little cluster said anything. As they traveled, the group encountered the occasional walker, routinely dispatched by whomever was in the best position to take them out. The girls walked with their heads down, and R.J. walked next to Judith, holding her hand on one side and gripping the Etch-a-Sketch on the other. 

Carol and Daryl walked side by side and sometimes hand in hand, between Judith and Lydia. Their gazes flickered from the road ahead to each other, and back to the road ahead. At one point, Daryl noticed Carol's bag seemed much heavier than usual. She released his hand to shift the bag from one side to the other. As they traveled, it spent less and less time on her injured shoulder. Daryl could tell it was bothering her. He reached out, grabbed the bag by the strap, and lifted it. 

"What the hell you got in there?" he demanded, as Carol grabbed at the strap beneath his hand and a brief struggle for possession of the bag ensued. Daryl relinquished his grip and held up both hands, smiling, as she bore down on him. "What's in it? Rocks? Did'ja steal m'shampoo and the body wash? I saw you eyein' the bottles this mornin.'" Carol laughed and playfully smacked his hand away, grinning, when he pretended to reach for her bag. She noticed the kids were all gawking at them as if they'd sprouted extra limbs and begun speaking in a foreign language.

"I brought water and snacks," she explained, rummaging in the bag and handing a bottle to each of them. The beverages were gratefully accepted. It was still early, but already the sun was beating down and the heat was reflecting up from the road. "There, that's better," she said, pointedly hoisting the bag twice to demonstrate to Daryl how much lighter it was.

"Hey, girls," Carol called over to them, her eyes sparkling with this new challenge, "I'll bet you've been hearing lots of gossip this morning." _Might as well get this over with._

"Little bit," Lydia admitted, opening her water bottle and taking a sip.

" _Tons_ ," Judith emphasized with an eye roll. Lydia gave her look of warning and shook her head.

"It's okay," Daryl said, gruff but gentle. "we know."

"We know. We're not sorry for what happened, but we're sorry if we embarrassed you," Carol added apologetically. 

Judith's glance tipped down to their linked hands, then to their faces, where two pairs of blue eyes looked down at her with concern.

"Just say it, Judith," Carol urged. "It's OK to speak your mind."

Judith looked up at her in wide-eyed apprehension. "Are you and Uncle Daryl going to run away together?" 

"What, and just abandon y'all?" Daryl huffed. "Not hardly."

"Why would you think that?" Carol asked. 

"Because sometimes you go away to get things done," Judith replied. "Kelly says it's your superpower."

The five of them walked in silence for a time. Summer was drawing to a close and the occasional dry leaf crunched under their boots.

"I might -- we might -- go away, for a little while, sometimes," Carol said carefully, with a glance at Daryl. "Like on a run, or to... to a rendezvous."

"Pffft! A rendezvous," Lydia snorted.

"Whatever," Daryl said. He'd noticed several of his behaviors and mannerisms had already rubbed off on or otherwise had an influence on his adopted daughter, and not always in ways he appreciated. "We ain't gonna run off. Ain't goin' nowhere without'cha, 'less it's just for the short term. Couple, three days."

"As long as your mother's away, we're sticking around," Carol assured Judith. She reached out to touch Lydia's shoulder. "Wherever we live, you will, too." The girl nodded quickly and ducked her head so the woman wouldn't see her eyes welling up in relief.

"What if our mom doesn't come back?" Judith asked.

"Well then... I guess we'd be around until you're all grown and can take care of yourselves," Carol promised, looking at Daryl, who nodded in agreement. 

"Are you gonna make all that noise again?" R.J. piped.

Carol shot a side eye at Daryl, who was watching her with a sly grin from behind his fringe. 

"Don't look at me," he said. "Takes two to tango, don't it?"

She flashed him her bright and glorious smile again, the one he could never get enough of. They needed no words to convey what was between them, in their hearts. Maybe there was no tomorrow, but they'd shared a yesterday and they still had today. Either of which was more than either of them had ever dared to realistically hope for. All was well in their world, if only for this brief moment in time.

Carol turned to R.J. "We'll try not to," she assured him.

Daryl let out a snort. "Makin' one of them promises again?"

"Why not?" She asked, tilting her head and giving him a wink. "It's always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've shipped Caryl since the very beginning and they will always own a piece of my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first sex scene I wrote and shared with anyone, ever, and it feels like masturbating blindfolded in a room full of strangers. Did it anyway, though. What the hell, you only live once. Not sure whether that's comforting or alarming.


End file.
